From Pond Water to AI: A Generation Caught Between Memories and Machines

By Rehman Asif
rehmanaseef@yahoo.com

I belong to a generation that has passed through the longest and most intense chain of transformations ever witnessed by humankind — a chain of changes so vast that no generation before us experienced it, and none after us likely ever will. Some may call us the “lucky ones,” caught between the charm of the old world and the promise of the new. For us, change came not as progress, but as a slow goodbye
wrapped in the fragrance of fading memories.
Yuval Noah Harari, in Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind (2011), reminds us that for most of history, change crept like a shadow across generations — until, in modernity, it began to gallop. What we have witnessed is not merely change, but a rupture — a cascade of upheavals so swift that the soul has scarcely had time to breathe. Some may call us fortunate, heirs to both the warmth of analog memory and the chill clarity of digital promise.
We are the children of a collapsing silence, the last to write letters by hand and the first to summon the world with a tap. The maps we were born with have vanished beneath our feet, replaced by coordinates that shift faster than meaning. Harari warns that humans, in pursuit of power, have often sacrificed meaning — and now, as algorithms outpace intention, we risk forgetting not only where we came from, but why. Between the hush of libraries and the hum of servers, we wander — remembering, yet
unable to return.
We lived a life rooted in emotion, connection, and simplicity. We cried when a baby bird fell from its nest. We laughed without filters, and we listened with our hearts. We drank water from village ponds without fear of contamination. Rivers and canals flowed freely, unpolluted and full of fish. We caught them with our bare hands and wrote heartfelt letters, posted wishes on postcards, and inhaled the smell of books like they were sacred objects.
Our evenings were filled with stories from elders, not screens. Our joys were simple, yet profound. We didn’t need algorithms to tell us what happiness looked like. It was in our people, in our places, in our shared silences and collective laughter. Today, we live in a world governed by artificial intelligence — a realm where ChatGPT answers faster than a friend, and robotic partners replace real relationships.
Decisions are now made by machines that hold more cognitive knowledge and collective wisdom than any human brain. Planning is efficient, forecasting is accurate,and life appears—at least on the surface—more organized, more advanced.

We are told the future is brighter. That AI will make life more beautiful, more charming, more predictable. But in this pursuit of perfection, we must ask: where are we going? The very essence of human emotion, spontaneity, and error is being redefined by artificial precision. The concept of family is shifting; the concept of love is being replaced by programmed companionship. Marriage is no longer a necessity when robotic spouses can offer uninterrupted attention and personalized affection like B3 robots are
famous for being partners. Are we advancing, or are we surrendering? Are we building a better world, or simply handing over our home — our Earth — to the machines we created?

This is not a protest against progress. It is a plea for reflection. In our race to evolve, let us not forget the value of the world we once held dear — a world of rivers, letters, and the laughter of children playing under the open sky. Progress should not come at the cost of losing ourselves.